


In Good Hands

by Meilan_Firaga



Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Imprisonment, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-04 00:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21188678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga
Summary: Goosefat Bill is less than thrilled about the upstart guy in the brothel who's landed him in prison, and while he's locked up in a cell he's got nothing but time to ponder just how upset he is.





	In Good Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jedibuttercup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/gifts).

_ drip _

_ drip _

_ drip _

Water, as icy as the wind howling outside, dropped steadily from a crack in the stone overhead. It gathered in one corner of the tiny cell, puddling on the floor and leaving even less dry space for its one occupant to keep himself warm and dry. In the opposite corner Goosefat Bill kept his arms wrapped tight around his body to hold in what little warmth his clothes afforded him. The wound he’d taken fleeing the scene of the branding barge they’d sunk had finally stopped bleeding, but the skin around it was inflamed and tender to the touch. He doubted the Blacklegs were going to go out of their way to get him treatment. He was going to need to find a way out before it started to truly fester.

He was never going to forget the face of the snarky upstart in that brothel. Everyone was scared. He understood the need to take care of your own in such desperate times. There were limits to what could be expected of the common folk when the resistance crossed their doorstep, but there was something to be said for manners. The greasy little punk had sold him out without a second thought. And with a parting shot about being taken care of, no less.

The brat was probably one of Jack’s Eye’s informants. He seemed like the type to make a little coin on the side selling out the folks just trying to improve the circumstances for the people of England. He probably told himself he was just looking out for his own so he wouldn’t lose sleep. The type of purposefully blind idiot who either didn’t realize or didn’t care that their apathy and complacency was contributing to the plight of the common people. If he ever found that boy again, Goosefat was determined that he would slap him hard enough to turn his head.

Something rattled in the hall outside the cell. 

It was late—well after dark if the absence of light drifting down from the hall’s high window was any indication—and Bill was immediately on edge when the rattle was followed by the scrape of a boot. Something clicked in the door of his cell and it swung outward just far enough to allow a figure draped in black to slip through. The figure was across the cell in an instant and pressed bill roughly against the wall.

“Now, listen good and well because we don’t have a lot of time.” It was Jack’s Eye, his face obscured in the shadow of a deeply hooded cloak. “Arthur and I have an agreement when it comes to folks arrested in his establishment. In light of what’s happened I’m going to honor it one last time.”

Bill’s eyes narrowed. “What’s happened?”

“Branding barge took Art upriver,” Jack’s Eye explained. “Always thought he was just another whorehouse orphan. And then the unfortunate fuck pulled the sword.”

The world tilted sideways. There were a lot of things Bill thought might have happened while he was incarcerated. That the Born King would return was inevitable. That he was the jerk that had turned him in was one of Fate’s cruel jokes. Jack’s Eye hadn’t stopped talking.

“I can’t keep my mouth shut on this one,” he whispered harshly. “Gonna have to give them everything on Art that I’ve got, but you’re the last arrest I made before the shit hit the fan. I’ll honor the agreement I had with him on that and you’ll get yourself as far from here as you can.” As he talked his hands worked quickly to unlock the chains at Bill’s wrists and ankles, deftly catching them before they could crash to the ground. “You’re going to get as far from here as you can, and you’re going to forget you ever saw my face. Do you understand?”

Blinking, Bill turned the information over in his mind. For all that he’d been berating the kid in his mind, there was a plan in place to get him out? His day was getting stranger and stranger.

Jack shook him. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand.”

Jack’s Eye led him out into the hall and then down to an entrance to the sewers. He gave a few vague directions on how to get down to the river and then disappeared around a corner, leaving Bill with his thoughts and a small bag that was pressed into his hands with zero explanation. He didn’t stop to take stock of his situation until he could see the river through an open sewer grate several yards ahead. The bag turned out to contain a loaf of dark bread, an apple, a hunk of spiced cheese, and a oilcloth pouch of supplies to treat his wound. The wonders never ceased.

Still, as he made his way out of the sewers to the river, intent on heading back to the base, he came to a decision. Born King or not, man who’d made a deal to get him out of prison or not, when he next saw this Arthur he was still going to slap him across the face. Good hands, indeed.


End file.
